Priorities
by Sam.J.Eller
Summary: On occasion, Sam forgets exactly where he falls on his big brother's list of priorities. Luckily, Dean has no problem reminding his kid brother of his invaluable worth. One-Shot. Weechester/Teenchester. Hurt/Upset/Sam and Protective/Caring/Dean.


Note: This started out as one thing, but turned into something else. That happens sometimes. ;) I hope you babes like it!

* * *

Dean was going to kill him.

He wasn't sure if it would be before or after the lecture, perhaps during.

Either way, Dean was going to kill him.

Of that, Sam was certain.

The young boy tried to blink away tears of frustration as he scrubbed forcefully at the red stain on the front of the shirt.

"Fuck." He whispered.

That was another thing that Dean would kill him for. Because even though him and Dad could curse all they wanted, Sam always got in trouble for it. Dad didn't seem to mind so much, but Dean did, Dean minded a _lot_. Sam didn't really care for swearing, he didn't really like it - to be honest - but sometimes he would do it; and Dean really didn't like that. He wouldn't get mad, so much as he would just look upset. That was why Sam tried not to curse, because he _hated_ it when Dean was upset, even more than when he was angry.

He was going to be both upset and angry when he got home and found out that Sam got blood all over his t-shirt.

It wasn't just any shirt, either, it was his Metallica one!

"Stupid, stupid, stupid!" Sam shouted, rubbing the towel vigorously against the stain.

He knew he shouldn't have been wearing the shirt to begin with. He hadn't planned on it, but all of his shirts were dirty, because laundry day was supposed to be yesterday, but it didn't get done. So he hadn't had anything clean to wear for school today. Sam had gone looking through Dean's clothes, searching for a shirt that didn't have graveyard dirt or blood on it. There had only been a couple of clean options and the only one that even sort of fit Sam, had been the Metallica one. Dean was a lot bigger than Sam and most of his clothes were way too large for the younger boy, but the band shirt was one that his big brother had gotten awhile ago, and it was the smallest of all his shirts. It fit Sam the best, it was still too big, but it didn't look like a dress on the ten-year-old. Although - if Sam was honest with himself - he also partly chose that shirt, hoping that the other kids at school would think he was cool.

As it turned out, the boys at school didn't care what Sam was wearing, they punched him in the face either way.

While he was scrubbing at the stain, more blood dripped onto it, adding to the stubborn red blotch.

"No, no, no." Sam panicked, realizing the toilet-paper he had been holding to his nose had soaked through, and was allowing the blood to run freely down his face and leaking onto the shirt.

He hastily grabbed more toilet-paper and used it to pinch his nostrils closed, whimpering at the pain that accompanied the rough treatment.

Sam didn't care about how much pain his nose was in, or the pulsing ache around his swelling eye, or the bruises on his arms. All Sam cared about, was cleaning the red out of his big brother's favorite shirt.

The young boy choked out a cry as more blood – from his split lip, this time – dripped onto the sacred clothing, destroying the band-name that had once been written in white.

"Please, stop." He pleaded desperately, begging his body to stop contaminating the shirt. He thought of removing it, but was worried about getting more blood on it by pulling it over all his scrapes and cuts. Not that it mattered, by the time Sam had made it back to the hotel, the clothing was already covered in the bright red fluid, that had poured from his nose the entire walk home.

Had Sam not been so distracted by his current crisis, he might have heard the motel room door open and slam shut. Regardless of how preoccupied he was at the moment, there was no way Sam could miss Dean's booming voice.

"Sam!"

The younger boy's eyes went wide, as he glanced at the closed door to his right, knowing whose footsteps he could hear approaching. It was at times like this, that he wished they stayed in nicer hotels, the ones that would have locks on the bathroom doors.

"What the hell, man? You know you're supposed to meet me outside of your school. Do you know how long I stood there waiting for your scrawny ass?"

Sam cringed. Dean was already angry, and he hadn't even seen what Sam did to his shirt yet.

"Hey! You hearing me?" The teen asked, banging on the bathroom door.

"Ye-yeah, sorry! School let out a little early and I didn't wanna wait." Sam released his nose long enough to mutter the explanation, before pinching it closed again, feeling blood soak through the toilet paper.

It wasn't a complete lie, school had let out early, and Sam hadn't wanted to wait. However, he had intended on walking a block over to the high school and waiting out front for his brother, but three cruel eighth-grade bullies had ruined that. They had surrounded Sam at the back of the school, while he'd been heading to meet Dean. The fifth-grader had tried – really, he had – he even got in a couple hits, but there had been too many and they were all much bigger than him. They had kept hitting him until he'd fallen on the pavement and was curled up in a ball, trying to defend himself, and crying like a little baby – which is what they had called him when they walked off laughing.

"You didn't want to wait? Do you know how fucking worried I was? Standing out there and waiting for you to show?"

Sam wanted to apologize, but he could feel the emotion building in his throat, and he knew if his brother heard that, there would be no hope in keeping him away.

"Sam, answer me, dammit!" The teen yelled, pounding on the door once again.

Sam bit his lip, hearing Dean's anger rise. He knew it wouldn't be long until the teen came bursting in to lecture him. The young boy decided on removing the shirt and hiding it somewhere in the bathroom, that way maybe he could try to clean it later, without his big brother finding out.

Unfortunately, Dean's level of patience was even thinner than Sam had originally assumed.

The bathroom door burst open, before he had time to slide his arm out of a single sleeve.

"Sam! Answer me when I'm talking-

Dean's furious orders came to a sudden stop, as soon as his eyes found Sam.

"What the hell?"

Sam flinched at the anger he could hear in his brother's voice, scrubbing again at the shirt.

"I'm sorry, Dean. I can't get it out! I'm trying!" He choked out.

Dean was silent for a moment, simply staring down at Sam, with his mouth half open and his eyes alight with fury.

The younger boy shied away from the blazing green gaze, feeling his bottom lip quiver as his eyes filled.

"I'm sorry, Dean. I know that I shouldn't have worn it. I'll fix it, I promise." He assured, emotion clogging his throat, making it difficult to speak clearly.

Sam wanted nothing more than for Dean not to be angry with him, though he knew his brother had every right to be. Sam had gone through his brother's things, and taken something that didn't belong to him, something that was special to Dean, and not only had Sam used it, he had destroyed it.

Dean had every right to be angry, and even still, Sam would do _anything_ for him not to be.

Anything.

"I'm sorry, Dean! I'm really sorry!" He declared through his tears.

Dean's only response was to grab Sam by the shoulders and turn the smaller body to face him. Sam looked up at his brother long enough to spot the rage shining through the fire in his eyes and the vicious clenching of his jaw, before staring down at the stained tile floor in guilt and shame.

"Sam. Look at me."

The younger boy shook his head, his hair swaying before his eyes.

"Look at me." Dean repeated.

Sam forced his gaze up, only having the courage to make it to his brother's chest, too terrified to see the anger in the teen's eyes again, no matter how much the younger boy knew he deserved it.

"Now, Sam." The demand was strict, and Sam forced himself to comply, hoping to avoid the escalation of his big brother's wrath.

He obediently looked up, but refused to meet the teen's eyes.

Thankfully, Dean didn't demand that of Sam, he simply placed his much larger hand on the side of his little brother's face, angling it to the left and then the right. The younger boy was pliant in his brother's grasp, as Dean walked him backwards, kicking the lid down on the toilet seat, before lifting Sam to sit on top of it. He did not resist as Dean pulled the forgotten toilet paper from the hand hanging at his side, he simply kept his gaze to the left of Dean's head, staring avoidantly at the hideous floral wallpaper decorating the room. Sam absently heard the tap being turned on and watering trickling down the drain, but he was too busy thinking up a way to make things right with his big brother, to pay much attention to what was going on around him.

The smaller boy did flinch, however, when a sudden pressure was placed on his nose.

"Hold that there, and tip your head back." Dean instructed, grabbing Sam's hand and placing it around the towel being held up to his nose.

Sam did as he was told, pinching his nostrils as he tipped his head back to stare at the ceiling.

"Whoah, not that far." Dean declared, firmly grasping Sam's chin and pulling it down a fraction.

Sam winced as a cool cloth dabbed at his split lip, the pain making him pull back instinctively; but Dean was ready for that, his two fingers still gripping the younger boy's chin, successfully keeping his head in place.

"Hold this." The teen ordered, reaching for Sam's right hand and placing it against the damp facecloth, which was pressing against the damaged lip.

Dean released Sam's hand, and made to move away, but he paused. Sam chanced a glance up at the older boy, noticing that the focussed green eyes were staring at the fabric Sam was holding against his mouth.

It wasn't until his big brother's long fingers reached out and skimmed over the younger boy's knuckles, that Sam realized Dean was probably looking at the bruises and scrapes on his hand, the ones he received from fighting back.

Sam opened his mouth, whether to explain or apologize once more, he wasn't sure, but before he had the chance to do either, Dean moved away. As the teen left the bathroom, Sam slumped in his seat, suddenly feeling all the aches of his body. He felt sore and so very tired. Without meaning to, Sam dropped his head back down, his chin nearly touching his chest as he stared down at the ruined shirt. He removed the damp cloth from his lip, folding it so the blood was concealed, and began to scrub at the bloodied clothing.

"What the hell, Sam?"

The younger boy's head snapped back up at the loud exclamation, and he watched as his brother returned to the bathroom, first-aid kit in hand.

"I said to hold that, here." Dean snapped, his touch much softer than his tone, as he moved Sam's hand and the cloth back up to his mouth.

"Sorry." Sam mumbled.

Dean made no reply, simply titling his little brother's head back up and gently sliding his bangs from his forehead. Sam couldn't hold back a grimace as Dean's fingertips grazed over his swollen left eye. He glanced up nervously at the taller boy situated in front of him. Dean still looked angry. There remained a rage in his gaze and his jaw was still clenched, but his touch was soft. Sam thought that maybe his brother wasn't as cross with him as he had seemed, or perhaps that was just wishful thinking.

Dean frowned, lightly touching around the swollen eye once more, before returning his attention to Sam's lip. He nudged Sam's right hand out of the way, and bent down to examine the cut. Sam sat patiently under the scrutiny, fiddling with the bloody cloth; and noticing that the towel pressed against his nose was drenched with blood, soaking his fingers.

"Uh, Dean?"

The teen's eyes met Sam's, they seemed less angry than they had a few minutes ago, now they held question.

Sam pulled the towel from his face, holding it out in front of him. The previously white fabric was now completely bright red.

"Shit." Dean cursed, snagging the towel, and tossing it in the sink, as he glanced around the small room for another. Sam knew there had only been two towels in the tiny motel bathroom, and both were now stained with his blood. Dean turned and walked into the main room, Sam could hear him making his way toward the tiny kitchen. In his brother's absence, the younger boy took the cloth still clenched in his right hand, and used the clean side of it to try and scrub some of the red off the white lettering on the band shirt. He was so focussed on cleaning the bright red blotch off the large 'M', that he failed to notice Dean's return.

"Would you quit that!" The teen barked, snatching the cloth from his little brother's hand and tossing it into the sink.

Sam frowned, he had been trying to make things better, not worse.

"I'm sorry. I was trying to fix it." He whispered.

"Don't worry about the shirt, Sam." Dean responded, using the dishtowel in his hand to dab away the blood flowing out of Sam's nose.

"But- but I wrecked it." The ten-year-old muttered, rubbing his hand mournfully across the tarnished band name.

"Alright, that's it. Arms up." Dean ordered.

It took Sam a moment to understand what his brother was asking of him, but he quickly obeyed. Of course Dean would want Sam to remove the shirt, to keep him from getting any more blood on it. The teen tugged the clothing over Sam's head and off his arms, not even giving it a second look, before tossing it over his shoulder into the sink, to join the blood-soaked towels.

Sam's eyes went wide as he looked between the sink and his big brother, in shock. Dean loved that shirt, it was his favorite, how could he toss it away so carelessly?

"Dean, it'll get more blood on it."

"It's fine, Sam." He dismissed, squatting in front of the shorter boy seated on the toilet lid.

"But, it'll make it worse."

"It's already messed up, dude, let it go."

"But maybe I can fix it, or get it cleaned, or—

"Do you honestly think I give a shit about the godamn shirt?" Dean queried, his tone harsh, but his expression held honest question as he looked at Sam.

"It's your favorite." The youngster proclaimed, shivering as the cool air reached his bare skin.

Dean's eyebrows rose.

"It's a shirt." He replied, his voice drenched in disbelief.

Sam frowned, feeling full of confusion. Dean loved his Metallica shirt, it was his favorite. Sam knew that. And Dean was mad, Sam could see the teen's anger clear as day. So why was he pretending he wasn't?

Sam watched as his big brother dabbed at his nose again, before setting the dishtowel aside and flipping open the first-aid kit, set out in front of him on the floor. The teen rifled through it before pulling out what he needed, antiseptic, which he poured onto the towel.

"This is going to sting."

Sam nodded at the unnecessary warning, he had been hurt enough times to know that much. He winced at the pain, but otherwise didn't react as Dean cleaned out the cut. After the older boy had placed butterfly bandages on his lip, Sam spoke softly.

"But you're angry."

Dean looked up at Sam from his kneeled position on the floor, it seemed to take him a moment to realize what his little brother was going on about, but he soon figured it out.

"Yeah, Sam, I'm angry. I'm pissed that some asshole thought it was okay to do this to your face." Dean bit out, his hand cupping the left side of Sam's jaw, and his thumb running rhythmically across the child's cheekbone.

"I'm angry because somebody hurt you."

Sam felt his eyes filling as he met Dean's earnest gaze.

"I'm angry because some sonuvabitch used you as a punching bag."

Dean's voice cracked ever-so-slightly, but enough that his little brother could hear it, not that there wasn't already plenty proof of the teen's pain, shining through his vibrant green eyes. It was the older boy's obvious hurt, that had tears running down Sam's cheeks.

"And I'm furious, because I wasn't there to help you, and you had to fight back…alone." Dean rasped, his thumb brushing the trailing teardrops from Sam's face, as his other hand abandoned the towel and reached for Sam's right hand, his fingers gliding over the damaged knuckles.

"And the second I'm finished patching you up, you are going to tell me exactly what happened and who did this. I want the name of every little bastard who needs their lungs pulled out. But all of that can wait until after you've stopped bleeding." Dean declared in all seriousness, as he returned to wiping the blood that proceeded to leak onto Sam's upper-lip.

"So, you're not mad at me?" Sam checked, staring steadily at his big brother, searching for the truth.

Dean returned his gaze to the hazel eyes focussed on him.

"No, Sammy. I'm not mad at you." He answered honestly.

"Promise?" Sam whispered.

"I promise, kiddo." Dean replied softly, brushing his little brother's bangs to the side. "You got that?"

Sam nodded, his dimples appearing as a small smiled tugged at his lips. Dean nodded in return, twitching a grin of his own, as he continued to work to stop his kid's nose from bleeding.

"I hate your blood."

Most people would be perplexed, or possibly offended, by such a statement, but it was one that Sam had heard a number of times before.

He had asked their dad awhile back, after receiving a head injury during one of his first hunts, why it was Dean only ever said that to him. John had arrived home bleeding a countless number of times, and Dean had never muttered that phrase, but he had said it several times when dealing with Sam's injuries. So, one night, when a wound on the back of his head wouldn't stop oozing blood, Dean had made that same statement, before marching off to the bathroom to retrieve another towel; and Sam had quietly questioned their father as to why.

John had smiled softly - something he rarely did anymore - and placed a comforting hand on Sam's shoulder, before answering. He had, in a hushed voice, explained to Sam that his blood was thinner than John's and Dean's. For some reason, it was lighter and took far longer to clot, which frustrated Dean. Sam had nodded slowly, taking in the information - even past the headache that had been pounding in his skull at the time - and listened as his father continued, the man making his voice impossible softer. He had then pointed out, in a near whisper, that Dean also hated to see his little brother hurting and in pain, and that was why Sam's blood upset him so much.

Sam smiled at his older brother as he reflected on the reasons behind the frustrated statement, but Dean didn't notice, he was too busy pinching Sam's nose, and scowling at the blood staining the dishtowel.

"You hurt anywhere else?" He questioned, after a few moments.

Sam shifted in discomfort and shook his head.

"Sam." Dean chastised, levelling the younger boy with a no-bullshit expression.

"Just bruised a little bit."

"I noticed." Dean bit out, his gaze sweeping over Sam's bare chest and arms. "What else?" He questioned.

"That's it."

The teen raised an eyebrow.

"Honest. I'm just- I'm really tired." Sam admitted quietly, knowing that it wasn't all that late, but his whole body was sore and his muscles were aching as though he had run a marathon.

"Fighting does that. It takes it right out of you, kiddo. I bet you're exhausted. As soon as I get your damn blood to stop leaking all over the place, we'll get you to bed." Dean explained, sympathy and sadness pouring from his tone.

Sam hummed his acceptance as he patiently sat on the toilet seat, submitting himself to his brother's care, like he had done countless times before. The younger boy was dazed out and on his way to dozing off, when he roused at the feeling of a warm cloth being gently dragged over his skin. He opened his eyes, and must have given Dean a curious look, because his brother twitched a smile before saying,

"I'm just cleaning you up, buddy. Then we'll get you into bed."

Sam nodded his understanding, closing his eyes and relaxing at the calming feel of the warm water washing the dried blood from his skin. The cloth scrubbed gently at his upper-lip and chin, before Dean nudged his little brother's head back and cleaned his neck all the way down to his collar bone. The fourteen-year old then tipped Sam's head back down, as he dragged the warm cloth around each side of his neck. Sam rested his forehead against his brother's chest, as Dean washed the back of his neck, the younger boy distractedly wondering how he managed to get blood back there, but not caring enough to open his eyes or move from the comfortable position. The teen's plaid shirt was soft against Sam's sore face, the little brother could hear Dean's heart beating in his chest, and could finally smell something other than the metallic scent of blood. Gun oil, hair gel, and m&m's, was what other people would probably smell if they ever got close enough to his big brother, but to Sam, the smell was quite simply, home.

"Don't you go falling asleep on me, little man." Dean scolded softly, combing his fingers through Sam's hair.

Sam sighed, he had always found the feel of his brother's long fingers sliding through his hair to be soothing, it was something Dean often did to put the younger boy to sleep.

"C'mon, Sammy, let's get you to bed." Dean quietly urged, sliding his hands beneath Sam's armpits and lifting him off the toilet. The smaller child gripped his brother's forearms, taking a moment to find his balance, his body feeling weak and drained.

"You good?" The teen asked, gripping Sam's knobby elbows as he stooped down to get a look at the young face, which was pinched in discomfort.

Sam nodded. "Just sore." He rasped.

Dean pursed his lips, giving a terse nod as he absorbed the information, his grip firm but gently as he lead Sam from the bathroom.

"Sit down, but no lying down, not yet." Dean instructed, ushering the younger boy to the bed furthest from the door and not releasing his steadying hold, until the youngster was seated.

"Kay, De." Sam slurred, his body zapped of every ounce of energy, exhaustion settling in.

"Fuck."

Sam forced his head up from where it had been hanging, his eyes searching out the cursing teen. It wasn't until he felt a tentative touch on his back, that he figured out where Dean was. He flinched as the wandering fingers skimmed over a particularly sensitive area.

"More bruises?" Sam inquired, tiredly.

"Yeah, kiddo, you're covered in them." Dean responded regretfully, as he made his way back in front of Sam, holding clean clothing. He gestured at his little brother's jeans. Sam quickly realized what the teen wanted, and sluggishly unbuttoned his pants and slid them down to his thighs, not having the will to put up any fight when Dean pulled them the rest of the way off his legs.

"Dammit."

Sam knew where to look at the sound of that curse, and he glanced down at his thin legs. Just like his arms, chest, and back – apparently - they were littered with bruises.

"Here."

That was all the warning Sam was given before a sweater was pulled down over his head.

"Arms." Dean prompted, holding the sleeves and waiting for Sam to feed his skinny limbs through. It wasn't until the hoodie was on, that Sam realized it was Dean's clothing. The sweatshirt was warm, and Sam always preferred to wear his big brother's clothes, they comforted him, but he didn't want to ruin any more of the teen's belongings.

"I shouldn't." He said, drowsily pulling at the fabric, attempting to remove it.

"Leave it." Dean ordered, tugging the hoodie back into place.

"My nose might bleed again." Sam warned, looking up at his older brother.

The teen nodded, making it clear he was aware of that. Sam supposed that if anyone knew how likely that was, it was Dean. Sometimes it felt like the older boy knew Sam's body better than he did.

"But your sweater—

"I don't give a fuck about my sweater." The words were curt, but the tone was soft, as were the hands that nudged Sam down onto his side and pulled the blanket up over his slender form.

The younger boy moaned softly as he curled up, willing the aches and pains too diminish, while settling into the mattress.

Before he even noticed he was gone, Sam's big brother returned with a pill and a glass of water in his hands.

"Take this."

Sam followed instruction, leveraging himself up long enough to slide the pain killer into his mouth and chase it down with a sip of water, (and then a few more sips because Dean reminded him how much blood he had lost through his nose). He sank back down and closed his eyes, opening them again when he felt his right hand being tugged from underneath the covers.

Sam watched blearily as Dean sat next to him on the bed, and began cleaning his knuckles with a warm cloth.

"There were three of them." He found himself whispering.

Dean nodded, seemingly unsurprised by the sudden conversation.

"Who?" He questioned.

"Eighth graders." Sam sighed.

"Who?" He repeated, his tone and expression darkening.

"Justin, Marcus, and Calvin." Sam recited.

Dean's jaw clenched, but his touch was soft as he continued to clean Sam's hand.

"Are those the ones who were beating on that other kid?"

The ten-year-old nodded, his hair fanning out across the pillow. He knew those three were mad at him, ever since he told a teacher when he saw them being rough with a younger boy. After that, Sam had gone to great lengths to avoid the older kids, it had worked for awhile, but today his luck had run out.

"What, those scumbags got nothing better to do than pound on kids half their age?" Dean seethed.

Sam shrugged, he didn't bother giving an answer when he knew his brother wasn't expecting one.

He winced as he felt a sting, eyes travelling off Dean's face to see that the teen had pulled out the antiseptic again, and was using it to clean out the broken skin on Sam's knuckles.

"Sorry." Dean apologized, gruffly.

Sam made no response, he knew that it hurt Dean more than it hurt him.

"I fought them. I promise, I did. I tried really hard to do all the stuff you taught me, but they just kept hitting me over and over, and I couldn't do anything. They were…I couldn't—

"There were three of them, Sam. And they were all probably at least twice your size. It didn't matter what kind of moves you used or how well you executed them, there's no way in hell you could have won that battle. Not with those fucked-up odds." Dean defended, his tone grim, yet confident, leaving no room for argument. Which was more than fine with Sam, he was too tired to put in the effort.

"I was afraid they wouldn't stop." The young boy confessed, his voice hushed and haunted as his bottom lip trembled, emotion overcoming him once again.

Dean paused his ministrations, wiping away tears Sam hadn't even known he'd let loose.

"I know, Sammy. But you're okay now, kiddo. I got you. And no one is ever touching you again, especially those asshats. You hear me?" Dean vowed, his voice and eyes full of promise.

Sam nodded, because he heard his big brother, and he trusted him completely. He always had. Dean would do anything for him, would do anything to protect him, that was something Sam had never doubted.

"That's my boy." Dean praised with a fond smile.

Sam couldn't help but grin in response, always ecstatic any time his big brother gave him that look. The one that was so full of love and pride, that sometimes it was hard to even look at, and yet, Sam could never look away from it.

The younger brother watched through a bleary gaze as Dean proceeded to tend to his hand, now bandaging the deepest of the cuts.

Even through the blur of exhaustion, Sam could still detect the guilt on the teen's expression. He didn't like that. He hated it when Dean blamed himself for things that happened to Sam. Things the older brother had no hope of ever preventing, be it illness or injury.

It wasn't fair.

"It's not your fault." Sam announced, working to keep from slurring the words, because they were important and what his big brother needed to hear.

Dean glanced at Sam's face for a moment, before shaking his head and returning his attention to the bandage he was applying.

"Dean." Sam whined, pulling his other hand free form the covers and gripping onto his brother's shirt, tugging the older boy's sleeve.

Regardless of the pestering, Dean didn't speak until Sam's hand was fully bandaged, and the supplies was set on the bedside table.

"The swelling isn't too bad, there won't be much point in icing it now. We should have don't that earlier." Dean muttered as he swept Sam's bangs away from his bruised eye.

"Dean." Sam tried for stern, but it sounded far more like a pout. Either way, it acquired the older boy's attention.

"What, Sam?" He asked in exasperation, as if he didn't already know.

"It's not your fault." The little brother repeated.

"I'm not so sure about that, kiddo. It seems like I haven't been doing my job very well lately."

Sam looked up at his brother, twitching his head to the side on the pillow, indicating his confusion.

"First, I let you get beat up, and then I find out that you think I care about a stupid shirt more than I care about you?"

Sam shook his head.

"You didn't let me get beat up, Dean, you couldn't have known!"

"Fine." Dean relented, but Sam could tell he didn't believe it, he just didn't want to fight about it anymore. "Even still, you thought I would be more upset over my fucking clothes, than you being hurt! What kind of shit big brother does that make me?"

There was no accusation in the question, but rather self-recrimination and disgust. It broke Sam's heart. Dean had done nothing wrong, and he had never wronged Sam in any way, shape, or form.

Dean had done nothing but take care of, and protect Sam, for his entire life.

"Dean, I didn't think that—

"Yes, Sam. You did. When I got in to the bathroom you couldn't stop obsessing over that damn shirt. I could see how scared you were of me, of how I would react to you getting blood on my freakin clothes!"

Sam didn't shy away from his big brother's outburst, because he knew the anger was not directed at him, but that Dean was aiming it at himself. To be honest, Sam would have preferred if he were the target, that would have hurt less than watching Dean treat himself so unfairly.

"You didn't make me think that! I made me think that." Sam protested, his voice portraying more power than he felt he had left in his body.

The loud declaration did manage to get his big brother's attention.

"What?"

"I forgot." Sam confessed faintly.

"Forgot, what?"

Sam's timid gaze met his brother's questioning eyes as he shrugged slightly before answering.

"How much I mean to you."

Dean's face softened instantly at the remark.

"You show me all the time, but sometimes I forget." Sam added, going to bite on his lip, hissing as his teeth momentarily pressed against his cut.

"You're going to have to quit that habit for a couple weeks." Dean chided with a smirk, brushing his thumb over the bandaged split in his little brother's lip.

Sam twitched a smile.

"Do you ever forget how much I mean to you?" Dean questioned, returning to their previous conversation.

Sam rapidly shook his head. Because that was one thing that he never forgot.

One thing he could never, ever, forget.

One thing he never stopped thinking about.

Because Dean meant _everything_ to Sam.

Everything.

"I don't either."

Sam stared up at his big brother, eyes wide as he absorbed the teen's every word. Dean's hand came to rest on Sam's chest as he spoke.

"You mean everything to me, kiddo. You are the most important thing in my life. You are _always_ number one. Before school, or girls, or stupid t-shirts, or even Dad. You're first, Sammy, you'll always be first. You got that?"

Sam hiccupped a soft sob as he nodded, trying to blink back the tears.

"Say it, Sam. I need to hear that you understand." Dean requested, his hand palming his little brother's face.

"I understand." Sam choked out.

"Understand, what?" The teen prompted patiently, his thumb tracing Sam's cheekbone.

"That I come first." Sam parroted obediently, with a quiet sniffle.

"Damn straight." Dean confirmed with a grin, swiftly swiping the tears off the younger boy's cheeks.

"I'm sorry." Sam apologized, working to swallow the lump in his throat.

"Enough of that. The only thing you have to be sorry for is trying to hide from me." Dean declared.

"I'm sorry for crying and making a chick-flick moment." Sam amended, though he was also sorry for ruining his big brother's shirt, and internally promised to find a way to make it up to the teen.

Dean chuckled softly, the sound was like music to Sam's ears, and he couldn't help but smile in return.

"You're exhausted and you're hurt. You're allowed to be emotional. Just get some rest before we have to have more of these moments, and I end up growing boobs or something."

Sam scrunched his face up at the mention of the female anatomy.

"Ewe."

Dean laughed, loud and full as he softly patted Sam's chest, and tugged the blankets up further over the small form.

"Do you think you'll ever grow out of being such a prude?" He joked.

Sam shook his head, unable to hide his dimples.

"I didn't think so." Dean chuckled again, grinning down at Sam as he sat next to him, his hand splayed across the younger boy's chest.

Sam giggled in delight, staring up happily at his big brother, until his eyelids grew heavy.

"Get some sleep, little brother. I'll be right here."

The soft promise had Sam closing his eyes with a sigh, and the safety of having Dean at his side, allowed his sore body to relax, but it was the long fingers combing through his hair, that lulled Sam to sleep.

As the youngest Winchester began to drift off, he thought of how absurd it was that he had thought Dean would be more upset over his shirt than Sam's wellbeing.

That had never been the case.

Dean had _always_ put Sam before everything else.

Sam had always been the older boy's focus.

He had always been first.

How had he possibly forgotten where he fell on his big brother's list of priorities?

He never wanted to forget that again.

But even more than that, he never wanted Dean to forget where he was on Sam's list.

Because Dean was number one.

He wanted Dean to understand how much he mattered.

He wanted him to know how much he was loved and cared for.

He wanted his big brother to know how much he meant

Because just as Sam meant everything to Dean, Dean meant _everything_ to Sam.

He always had and he always would.

That was one thing that would never change.

No matter what.

 **The End**

* * *

Note: So, what'd you think? I would love to know! For those wondering, I will definitely be back on tumblr at some point this weekend, so sorry for the delay! I keep falling behind on the show, but I am catching up tomorrow! Thanks for reading! I really hope you enjoyed it! That would make staying up until 4:30am totally worth it ;) - Sam


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